


Unfinished Business

by bulletproof_bad_wolf (rendawnie), rendawnie



Category: B.A.P, NCT (Band), Pentagon (Korea Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 13:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15582873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rendawnie/pseuds/bulletproof_bad_wolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rendawnie/pseuds/rendawnie
Summary: A collection of unfinished fics and fragments that have been sitting in my docs for a very long time.





	1. Author's Note

Hello! If you've clicked on this weird thing, thank you. I know there weren't any tags or much description for you to go on. 

This is basically just where I'm going to collect and post things I started with a ton of enthusiasm, but for one reason or another, they got left behind or discontinued. Maybe I'm hoping that some feedback will help motivate me to continue a few of the pieces. Maybe I just feel like some of the writing deserves to exist somewhere besides my laptop. Either way, I really appreciate you taking the time to read these blurbs, and please let me know if I should revisit any of these ideas and try to finish them.

I didn't want to clutter up the tags section with too much information, so any relevant warnings and other info will be listed in the notes of each work, which will be separated by chapter. Enjoy!


	2. strange as angels. (Yoonminkook)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last worked on: May 10, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mild sexual content, mentions of a robbery, swearing
> 
> Two fragments from the middle of the story were as far as I got, here.

Before he was even all the way back to the bedroom, Yoongi heard the familiar whines.  
  
"Hyyyyyyungggggggg. Hyung."   
  
"Hyunnnnnnnnnnng."   
  
Yoongi couldn’t help the little grin that touched the corners of his mouth as he peeked back in. Jimin and Jungkook were curled up together in the bed they all shared, Jimin wrapped around Jungkook and Jungkook tired enough to let it happen.   
  
Yoongi stopped in the doorway, three bottles of water in his hands and an eyebrow raised.   
  
"Yes?"   
  
Jimin flashed him a dazzling smile, the one he used when it was late and he wanted something but he didn't want to move. Jungkook's eyes were closed, one arm behind his head, but he was kind of smiling, too.   
  
"We're hungry," Jimin pouted, the childish timbre of the words legitimately hilarious coming out of someone with two piercings in his dick.

Yoongi shook his head, chuckling. “You two are shameless. And you, Kook-ah…” Yoongi jabbed a finger in Jungkook’s direction, even though he wasn’t looking, “You're better than this.”

Jungkook kept his eyes closed and smiled wider, while Jimin scowled next to him, and they were both still naked and so was Yoongi and everything in his life was perfect, suddenly.

Jimin frowned harder. “What, _I'm_ not better than this?” he protested, mock-offended.

Yoongi flopped down on the bed on the other side of Jungkook, handing Jimin a water bottle before settling into the crook of Jungkook’s arm. Jungkook didn't pull him closer, but Yoongi didn't mind.

He knew both of them like the inside of his underwear. He knew how smart Jimin was, how good at getting what he wanted. Hell, if that wasn't obvious by the way Jimin had just pounded into Jungkook minutes before, while Jungkook sucked Yoongi off until Yoongi was shooting down his throat, he didn't know what was.

“No,” he replied after a long moment, “You're better _at_ this.”

Yoongi narrowly managed to dodge Jimin's half-hearted, yet still effective slaps, aimed at him across a sleepy, grumbly Jungkook.

He'd turned out the light, was almost asleep, when Jimin's apologetic, amused, soft voice sailed into his ear.

“We really _are_ hungry, hyung.”

Yoongi wanted to say _then Jungkook can go to the drive-thru, he's usually the one taking care of both of us,_ or even _get it yourself, you're fully capable,_ but instead he sighed, turned the light back on, and sat up, looking at his boyfriends blearily.

“Fine. But I better get something in return for my trouble,” he muttered, yanking on his pajama pants with a yawn.

“Put it on our tab,” Jungkook murmured, voice thick with exhaustion, but he was asleep almost before the words were out of his mouth.

\----------

Yoongi was barely aware of the drive to the shop, barely even noticed how it took five minutes instead of ten, like it should have.

The red and blue flashing lights snapped him out of it.

He managed to stop shaking long enough to read the numbers on the police cruiser parked haphazardly in the lot.

_Namjoon. Thank fuck._

Namjoon had responded to the call, and Yoongi was grateful. Namjoon would be calm. Level headed. Everything Yoongi couldn't be right then.

It wasn't until he slammed the car into park and tumbled out of the door that Yoongi realized he'd left the house without remembering to put shoes on. He ignored it and let the gravel crunch between his toes as he ran toward the shop. The door was broken, probably kicked down in the haste to escape.

_Jimin. Jungkook._

Yoongi threw what was left of the door open, eyes darting around wildly, his mind assessing the damage in the background as he looked for the real treasures he might have lost that night.

The glass cases that housed tattoo machines and piercing guns for sale, smashed. Jungkook's flash art ripped off the walls. The cash register, still on the floor where it had likely been pushed, whoever had done this desperate for cash.

_Jimin._

Jimin was slumped onto a chair in the lobby, arms wrapped around himself, staring at the floor with his bottom lip between his teeth. With one glance, Yoongi could see that he hadn't cried, not yet. There was that.

_Jungkook._

Jungkook paced the floor of the shop, cursing and kicking at what was left of their dream, their baby for the last two years. Namjoon stood a reasonable distance away, notepad out, watching him patiently. Waiting for a moment of calm to continue his questions, probably.

The three of them looked up in unison as Yoongi barged in, their faces swiftly melting into varying degrees of shock. He probably looked insane, Yoongi realized suddenly with a passing moment of care.

Without thinking, he yanked Jungkook by the hand until he was sitting in the chair next to Jimin’s, each of Yoongi's hands moving to cup each of their faces at the same time, looking into their eyes. Making sure they were real. That they were okay.

Jimin wouldn't meet his eyes. Jungkook stared at him, his face blank instead of angry, now.

Yoongi swallowed, hard. “Are…” he started, then he heard how cracked his voice sounded and cleared his throat. “Kook. Are you hurt?”

Jungkook snorted. “Fuck no. Just my goddamn pride,” he muttered, but he didn't move Yoongi's hand. He pressed his cheek against it, just a little. Enough for only Yoongi and Jimin to notice.

“I didn't do anything,” Jimin said softly, next to him. Yoongi focused on his face. He could see the insecurity, the doubt. Even after a year and a half.

“I didn't do anything,” Jimin repeated. “I just let it happen.  Froze. I froze. I fucking _froze_.”

Yoongi’s head hurt. His heart hurt worse. He let go of Jungkook and put his hands on Jimin's trembling knees.

“I'm so, so glad you're here. I'm sorry. I'm more sorry than you'll ever know, but I'm glad neither of you were alone. I need both of you, and you, Jimin, you're the only fucking thing that keeps us all together sometimes.” Yoongi felt the tears coming, but Jimin looked relieved, and so he didn't care about holding them back.

When he stood up again to face Namjoon, Yoongi could feel the rage wetting his face. He let it. Namjoon had seen him cry before.

“You answered the call?” Yoongi asked finally, because he didn't know where else to start. He didn't know if he wanted to hear what happened, to know all the details. But he needed to know everything, and Namjoon was calm enough to tell him.

Namjoon sighed. “No. I'm...I'm off tonight.” Yoongi noticed for the first time that he wasn't the only one wearing his pajamas.

“I heard it come over the radio at home. I heard the address, and...I came. I wanted to come.”

Yoongi sat down, finally. “Okay.” _Thank you,_ he wanted to scream. _Thank you for so much I never said anything about._

Jungkook's head was in his hands, and Jimin was rubbing his back. Carefully. Cautiously. Jimin could be so confident, sometimes. But he still stepped gingerly over all the lines he thought existed in their relationship.

Jungkook looked up and at Jimin, a small smile forcing its way onto his face. Without a word, he wrapped one arm around Jimin's small frame, pulling him close and kissing his forehead. Jimin sighed, but his own smile was genuine, even though the exhaustion never left his eyes.


	3. Untitled (Bangjoon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last worked on: May 18, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mild smut, sexual conversation

“Fuck, hurry up. I want you.”

“I’m trying, I just keep fucking...I keep dropping the…”

“Well, pick ‘em up!”

“Listen, if you don’t stop I’m gonna tie you to the kitchen table and make you lick honey off my dick.”

“...I’m not sure that’s actually a threat, baby.”

By the time Yongguk stopped dropping the keys on the floor just outside their front door and let the two of them go spilling into the darkened apartment, Namjoon couldn’t stop giggling and Yongguk was dizzy.

It had only been a few drinks. Right?

He was having trouble remembering.

They’d gone out that night for their anniversary. The anniversary of the day they met was also the anniversary of the day they started dating, one year later. It was also the anniversary of the day they said  _ I love you  _ for the first time, and the anniversary of the day they moved in together.

Today.

The whole day had been spent hauling furniture inside, moving boxes from the truck to the rooms they belonged in. Sweating. Wearing old, ratty clothes and not caring.

When they were done, Yongguk had half-expected Namjoon to say he just wanted to stay in and fall asleep on the couch with a movie. Instead, Namjoon had gone to shower, and when he came back, dressed in a black button down, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and maybe one button too many undone, with jeans so tight and so ripped that they almost gave him a bit of an ass, and almost showed all of it off, Yongguk hadn’t been able to stop himself from pushing Namjoon to his knees and sliding his cock between those perfect, plush lips.

Then, they’d  _ both  _ had to get cleaned up. And Namjoon wanted dinner.

There was wine with dinner. Yongguk bought a bottle of wine, then Namjoon bought the next one. There was rum cake for dessert, and Yongguk was just buzzed enough to pretend it added to the effect.

In the taxi on the way home, Namjoon sat on Yongguk’s lap, laughing into every kiss and grinding down on Yongguk’s half-hard cock. Yongguk told him if he didn’t stop, he would end up tied to the bed.

He didn’t stop.


	4. Hello again, friend of a friend, I knew you when (Minjoon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last worked on: September 10, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece actually WAS posted here at one point, and I intended for it to be the first entry in a bingo I never completed.
> 
> Warnings: none

Every step on the pavement was another reassurance in Namjoon's head.

_This won't take too long. It can't._

_It's ten in the morning. No one's even on lunch yet. This was a great idea._

Namjoon pushed the door open with his shoulder, fully prepared to be met with a gloriously empty room, and a negative amount of line to wait in.

Clearly, he'd underestimated the intelligence of the general population.

The lobby of the Department of Motor Vehicles, AKA Hell on Earth, was not empty. Quite the opposite, actually. The line twisted and curved in on itself at least four times, snaking all the way from the row of windows the employees worked behind to the door Namjoon had just barreled in through off the sidewalk. Christ, he'd nearly mowed down a nonplussed lady with a baby in the process.

Namjoon ducked his head, full of embarrassment and regret already, and this experience was far from over.

“Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry,” he muttered under his breath, not chancing a look up as another few people took their spots in line near where he stood, having returned from the small machine at the front that dispensed tickets, with tiny three digit numbers printed across them. Namjoon cursed himself silently for forgetting to put in his contacts that morning, and forgetting his spare glasses on top of that.

Taking a deep breath, he began to push his way up to the front to get his own golden ticket, yanking it from the machine perhaps just this side of too hard. Thankfully, the entire thing didn't fall apart in Namjoon’s irreversibly, upsettingly clumsy hands.

When he and his number had made their way to the back of the line again, Namjoon opened his big palm and squinted at the tiny paper, trying to make out the digits on it. _Hopeless._ He began praying to whichever deity was available that an eye test wouldn't be required to process a simple change of address. Seokjin had told him to just do it online, but Namjoon, full of hubris and incredible amounts of disdain for technology, had refused.

He really should listen to Seokjin more often.

Namjoon sighed, holding the small slip of half-crumpled paper a centimeter away from his eyes. He had almost gotten it, or at least the first number, when a gentle throat clearing sounded from behind him.

“Need some help with that?”

Once he'd recovered from nearly jumping out of his skin in surprise, Namjoon whirled around casually. He was almost sure it was casual, even if the heavy breathing that accompanied it wasn't.

Behind him in the long, lonely line of doom was a guy. _Just a guy,_ Namjoon told himself firmly, even as said guy flashed him a dazzling, _sparkling_ smile and continued to wait for an answer.

Namjoon closed his mouth. He hadn't realized it was open.

Several long moments later, he managed a single word.

“Uh.”

_My god. The eloquence._

It seemed even his inner monologue agreed that he was a giant dork, sometimes.

The guy rolled his eyes, plucking Namjoon's ticket out of his hand and giving it a quick glance.

“Three twenty-six. I'm three twenty-five.”

Namjoon made a noise that he hoped sounded like a grunt of agreement or _thanks_ or something appropriate for the situation, even as his brain worked furiously, trying to find the next sentence he needed to say.

“They're only on number two sixty-eight. We'll be here a while,” the guy supplied helpfully. Namjoon continued his valiant attempts to keep his eyes glued to the floor. He gave another grunt, mentally congratulating himself on his loquaciousness.

Namjoon counted quickly in his head. Fifty-eight people stood between him and his completion of this bullshit task.

He was definitely going to be late getting back from lunch.

Namjoon began to ponder whether or not he should call work and let them know the situation, because no way in hell was he leaving this line. Not when he had moved five months ago and he'd been getting more and more paranoid about just existing with the offending license in his pocket, full of wrong information. Paranoia didn't always equal timely action, it seemed.

When Namjoon heard the guy's voice once more, it was even lighter. Tinged with amusement, now.

“I'm Jimin. Or three twenty-five, if you like.”

Namjoon had made a lot of mistakes in his life. Glancing up again, despite his best efforts, was suddenly pretty high on the list.

Jimin was...well, he was _uncomfortably_ hot. Like, looks-wise and also _actually._ Namjoon could feel the heat radiating off of him as their eyes met. He wasn't sure he should be enjoying it so much.

The DMV didn't really seem like a place where one should enjoy things.

And yet, Namjoon watched as Jimin ran a hand through his hair and bit his lip and eye-smiled right into his goddamn soul, and he found himself caring less and less about how long this was inevitably going to take.

“I'm um...Namjoon?” he tried, doing his best to ignore the way his own voice rose much higher than it should have near the end of the sentence, like it was both a question and a desperate plea for something Namjoon was only vaguely aware he wanted.

Jimin nodded, that damn smile still on his face as his eyes flicked to a few vending machines against the wall furthest from where they stood.

“You wanna split a candy bar with me, Namjoon?”

Namjoon kind of blacked out at that point, because Jimin was almost painfully attractive and sweet, but he must have nodded and grunted again, because Jimin hummed happily in response to whatever he'd done, and then he was gone.

Namjoon wasn't exactly proud of the way his gaze trailed after Jimin as he crossed the room.

The best he could figure, there were only two explanations for this behavior, the behavior that was very unlike anything he usually did, ever.

One, he had been running late that morning, hadn't had time to eat breakfast before he'd rushed out the door to work, and therefore he was most likely having some sort of attack. His body was attacking his brain and complaining about the lack of nutrients and it was all just coming to a head at that exact moment and Namjoon was very weak and so, he was staring a lot.

Two, Jimin was just as appealing from behind as he was from the front, and Namjoon had eyes, and they had to look somewhere, okay?

_Whatever._

He managed to tear said eyes off Jimin’s posterior just in time not to appear creepy. There was that, at least. Namjoon let them dart around the room instead, over the neverending line and the off-white walls and the depressing, overarching lifelessness of it all. He was just about to get mired down in his own ennui when Jimin came waddling back his direction, his fire engine red hair falling in his eyes.

Namjoon didn’t have time to think about how he was almost positive Jimin’s hair had been black when they’d first encountered each other ten minutes ago (all right, fine, when _Jimin_ had made the first nudge towards socialization, because Namjoon was terrible at life in general), because his new acquaintance wasn’t just holding one candy bar, after all.

Jimin’s arms were loaded down with candy, chips, sodas, and it seemed, anything else he could find in the vending machines across the room. He was cradling it all in the bottom of his hoodie, and that was cradled in his arms as he quick-walked back across the room with as much grace as his haul would allow him, and the whole scene was so ridiculous and unbelievably endearing, and wow, Namjoon _really_ should have had breakfast that morning. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so dizzy and ravenous at the sight of a Kit Kat. It had to be the Kit Kat. It had to be. Namjoon was unprepared for it to be anyone else.

_Anything else. I meant anything else._

Even hampered by the exertion of lugging twelve pounds of candy, Jimin’s smile was still radiant.

Namjoon met him as halfway as he could, keeping one foot in the line so their spots wouldn’t get stolen. He reached out his long arms and pulled Jimin next to him without thinking, and then suddenly Jimin was pressed against Namjoon’s chest and the candy was clattering to the ground. People were staring. Namjoon really didn’t care.

Jimin just laughed and sat down too. Namjoon followed, slower, because he was approaching elderly status and his whole life was starting to hurt, or it had been, before now. He watched Jimin as he settled down across from him on the floor, the pile of junk food between them. Namjoon watched as Jimin sorted through his purchases until he found a Snickers, liberating it from the chaos and tearing the wrapper open with his teeth while he cracked open a can of soda with his free hand.

When he realized he was staring again, Namjoon looked down instead, reaching for a granola bar and opening it carefully. He didn’t even like granola, really. He just needed something to stop him from completely embarrassing himself.

Jimin raised one eyebrow. “You failed the test.”

Namjoon’s head shot back up, the bar still in his mouth, where he’d been taking his first bite. “Huh?”

Jimin chuckled, motioning in the vague direction of the granola. “You failed the test. That granola bar was a test. I gave you a mountain of candy, an actual _Candy Mountain,_ okay, and you picked the one not candy thing in it. Fail.”

By now, at any other time, with any other person, Namjoon would have been mortally embarrassed, and perhaps seriously considering changing his name and moving to Nepal to become a monk, because he clearly shouldn’t be allowed in polite society. But it was Jimin, and Jimin was so warm, still _literally_ and also otherwise, and every time their eyes met Namjoon could almost feel himself melting, and in the back of his mind he knew there was something about Jimin that was more than what it seemed, but Namjoon decided not to care about that yet. He was still in for a long wait, and he didn’t want to lose the company.

He swallowed his first bite of granola, and it was predictably terrible. Namjoon wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as surreptitiously as he could, before he replied.

“What was the test?”

Jimin was playing with the discarded wrapper of his granola bar, and his hair was blond now. Namjoon was sure it was just the stress that was making him see things. He didn’t mention it.

Jimin’s voice was soft, and sweet. Like Namjoon could already tell he was, as a person. It was sweet, but there was a sharpness behind the sweetness, a tinge to the timbre that made Namjoon curious. Curiouser and curiouser.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jimin admitted, giggling. “But I’m pretty sure your results mean you’re boring,” he announced casually, tossing the wrapper back to the ground.

Namjoon let his jaw drop open in mock disbelief. _"Boring??_ I am not _boring,_ Jimin. I’m actually the most interesting man in the world, I’ll have you know. I’m very important. People talk about me. Probably. Sometimes.” Namjoon trailed off, looking back up at Jimin with a lopsided grin as he opened his own soda. The person in front of them in line moved up a few steps. They followed, scooting across the floor little by little.

They began to talk after that, actually talk. Namjoon and Jimin worked their way through the loot Jimin had purchased quicker as the words bounced back and forth between them easily. Namjoon couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun talking to someone, let alone someone new, let alone someone new, at the DMV.

He supposed you _could_ make friends in the strangest places. You could even make them out of your neighbor in line in the middle of Hell Itself.

Silver linings.

Park Jimin was a bartender. Bar manager, actually, he said, with a smirk of pride on his face. He enjoyed his job, and Namjoon could tell, and it somehow made him even more handsome, as he told Namjoon all about his regulars and his specialty shots, and he didn’t seem to run out of interesting stories until Namjoon was convinced that Jimin was right. Compared to everything Jimin had to say, Namjoon was, in fact, very, _very_ boring.

Namjoon told Jimin, in far less words, about how he worked in the call center of an insurance company, repeating the same information day in and day out, hour upon hour, to a variety of angry customers, ninety-nine percent of whom didn’t even want to talk to him in the first place.

Jimin asked him why he worked there, if he disliked it so much. Namjoon didn’t have a good answer.

They talked about their friends and their hobbies. Jimin said he liked to dance. Namjoon stopped himself from replying that he’d love to see that. It would probably have been overkill, and he still wasn’t sure why he was dizzy and thick-tongued, but he didn’t trust anything he was saying at the moment. He only knew that Jimin seemed to like it.

When only five people were left in the line ahead of Jimin, Namjoon checked the time on his phone. He was three hours late returning from lunch, and it would be another hour on top of this one. He knew he he should feel bad, or care, or something. But Jimin was giving him that damn eyesmile again, and Namjoon realized he’d probably said something that needed answering, and honestly, it wasn’t that hard to pull his attention away from thoughts of work and back to the man he’d spent the last however long feasting on Milky Ways with.

The person in front of Jimin’s number was up. Jimin shifted from foot to foot, chewing on his bottom lip.

“So. I guess this is goodbye?” Jimin repeated, except it sounded more like a question than a statement, or maybe something he wanted Namjoon to talk him out of.

Namjoon opened his mouth. “I…” he began, and then a tinny, robotic voice crackled over the speaker system of the building.

_“Three twenty-five. We’re ready for you.”_

Namjoon closed his mouth.

Jimin gave a soft chuckle, nodding once. “Okay. Well.”

Namjoon nodded too, because he didn’t know what else to do.

“Okay.”

He remembered himself long enough to come up with a few more parting words.

“Thanks for the candy.”

Jimin’s hair was dark brown when he nodded again, still smiling, although it was dimmer. Smaller.

“Bye, Namjoon.”

Jimin turned and walked away, and it was another few seconds before Namjoon could think of anything to say. The words weren’t really even directed at anyone, when they finally came.

“Bye, Jimin.”


	5. Prize (Sugakookie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last worked on: December 23, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sexual content, smoking, mentions of violence
> 
> I have no idea why I stopped dead-ass in the middle of a paragraph on this one.

“Did you watch the fight?” Jungkook asks, sliding under the sheets next to him.

“No,” Yoongi replies, too soft and too fast, and they both know it's a lie.

Jungkook smiles a little, and plays along anyway. “I won.” Yoongi tries not to grin back, pulling the blanket up to his nose as Jungkook's gaze runs hot over him.

“I won a lot of money, baby,” Jungkook continues, pressing a kiss to Yoongi's forehead. “Enough to get us out of this dump,” he says, gesturing to their small surroundings with one hand, before he lowers that hand to Yoongi’s cheek, stroking the pale porcelain of his skin.

Yoongi frowns. “I don't think it's a dump. It's ours.” he murmurs, but he doesn't want to argue, not when Jungkook's touching him like this, with his eyes and his fingers all at once. The words make Jungkook blush, and bite his lip before he answers.

“Yeah. I know, baby. But you deserve more. I want to give you more,” he says quietly, and Yoongi doesn't want to have this conversation right now, so he clears his throat and changes the subject.

“Did you get hurt?” he questions, even though he already knows.

Jungkook doesn't meet his eyes. It's his turn to lie. “No.”

Yoongi sits up halfway, enough to give his boyfriend a stern look. “Let me see.”

Jungkook waves him off with the same hand he used before, to take sweeping inventory of their cozy bedroom. “I'm fine.”

Yoongi sits up the rest of the way. “Let. Me. See.”

Jungkook sighs, but obeys. He brings his other hand out from under the sheets, the one that's swollen red and purple and wrapped in a bandage. Yoongi looks at it silently, and waits. The silence goes on a beat too long before Jungkook turns his cheek and shows Yoongi the bloodied bruise that's stamped on the other side of his face.

Yoongi gets up, bringing the ashtray and a half full pack of cigarettes to the bed, lighting them both one. Jungkook takes his between his teeth, stretching out on his back with one arm behind his head, watching Yoongi curl into himself, knees pulled up to his chin as he sits next to Jungkook.


	6. Kick the Tires and Light the Fires (Jikook, OT7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last worked on: April 4, 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was also once posted here, but I discovered after two chapters that even though I had a full outline, I don't know enough about space shit to have really pulled this story off the way I wanted to.
> 
> Warnings: none

**Chapter 1: Danger Zone**

 

Jungkook’s voice crackled into Jimin’s headset as they parked their ships back in the hangar.

“Yo, Ultraviolet. Come park over here by me. I hope you’re ready to get your ass handed to you, because I swept this fight, man.”

Jimin chuckled, jerking the gears of his ship until it was safely in place next to Jungkook’s. He took the few steps down and out of the cockpit and jumped from the last rung of the ladder down to the ground as Jungkook did the same next to him. Jimin observed Jungkook’s ship. Half the right side was missing, and he’d have to repaint the killer rabbit mural once Yoongi had fixed the damage.

Even so, Jungkook looked proud. Sweaty, but proud. “‘Sup, Goldie?” Jimin greeted him casually, yanking his helmet over his head. Even under his own protective gear, Jimin could see Jungkook scowling, and he was giggling by the time Jungkook managed to wrench his helmet off.

“Gold. My code name is _Gold._ ” Jungkook muttered unhappily, flipping through the small notebook he held in his hand.

“Let’s see….February twentieth, that’s today...here it is.” He held it out to Jimin, who took it as they walked through the main entrance of the base, following behind everyone else. Jimin squinted at the scratches on the page in Jungkook’s messy handwriting, laughing in disbelief.

“Kookie, these results are definitely skewed. There’s no way you got forty-six kills. There weren’t forty-six enemies out there today!” he protested, shoving the notebook back at Jungkook.

“Were too!” Jungkook tossed back. “You not seeing any of ‘em just means I’d already taken ‘em out.”

Jimin was about to reply, but they’d stepped onto the transporter platform, and Jungkook disappeared a second before he did.

They beamed up to the mess hall, where Seokjin was already setting the table, putting a bowl of steaming hot stew in front of each chair. As they made their way across the room, Jimin thrust his own paper in Jungkook’s face. “Here. Observe a non-inflated kill tally.” he said, rolling his eyes.

Jungkook scanned the list, smirking. “Only twenty-nine today, huh, Jimin? Slacker.” he crowed, poking Jimin in the ribs.

Jimin frowned. “Whatever. There was a...one of my guns was stuck and my torpedo crapped out on me and THERE WEREN’T EVEN FORTY-SIX ENEMIES, DAMN IT,” he protested desperately. He’d lost to Jungkook the last four fights, and even though the only stakes were bragging rights, Jeon Jungkook took nothing quite as seriously as bragging rights.

It had been like this ever since they’d met, right here on this base in the middle of East Space Nowhere, two years ago.

Jungkook was barely fourteen when Namjoon found him, living alone on a remote interstellar island, practically feral and with a mysterious scar on his cheek, left with no memories of what had happened to him or who he was, save for his name. It took a long time, but Namjoon earned Jungkook’s trust, and gave him a home and a job if he was willing to tag along with him on his adventures.

Jungkook had a work ethic like no other, and an almost insane need to prove himself to everyone around him. He was more than proficient in most types of combat and weaponry, and a very skilled pilot and fighter, but his most loved weapon was a simple knife. Jimin was acutely aware of how menacing Jungkook could be with that knife, in the heat of battle.

Only Namjoon and the rest of the crew knew the real Jungkook under all the posturing, the shy, uncertain boy with the bunny smile who just wanted to make everyone happy and be a part of something.

Now, Jungkook shrugged merrily, chomping on a dinner roll, chewing in between words. “Sounds like somebody’s just butt-hurt ‘cause they lost again, hyung.”

Jimin squeezed his fist around his fork so tight it bent almost in half.

There were seven of them in the Queen’s hired guard, seven bodyguards for hire who didn’t care who they were working for, as long as they were promised to the highest bidder. The Queen had outbid everyone else _and_ everyone they’d ever worked for. Sure, she was evil as hell and one day they’d probably have to go on a near suicide mission to stop her, but for now, they could take it easy and fight her battles for her and compare numbers at the end of it all.

Jimin sighed as Jungkook giggled at him, straightening out his fork morosely.

Those who were fooled by the happy-go-lucky, flirtatious personality Jimin presented to the public tended to learn their lesson quickly when he got down to business. Known as a sniper of deadly precision, able to hit his mark every time, Jimin had twice made the Most Wanted in the Galaxy list and twice been pardoned, simply by throwing a well-timed wink and a smile towards the judge at his trials.

He and his fraternal twin brother, Taehyung, were recruited by Namjoon when he spotted them sparring playfully in line at a modeling casting call, of all things, while Namjoon was tending to some business back on Earth. Murder for money was more fun than modeling, anyway, Jimin figured. As long as his pretty face went untouched, he went with it.

It was always like that. Jimin flew by the seat of his pants, happy to be anywhere as long as Taehyung was there, and especially happy to have this family, even if it was one that got by breaking a myriad of laws in the space code. Hoseok had been teaching him dance moves every chance they got, and Jimin liked watching Yoongi noodle around in the hangar, when the older man didn’t kick him out on sight.

He’d had a relationship of friendly competition with Jungkook since day one, with each of them counting their kills and comparing notes after all was said and done.

Well. It was friendly to _Jimin._ Jungkook, on the other hand...Jungkook might actually kill him, one day.

They ate in silence for a while, Jimin and Jungkook sitting at the end of the table next to each other, when Jimin finally spoke up.

“So, I uh...got us a side job.”

Jungkook stared at him incredulously, spoon halfway to his mouth. “You what now?” he whispered, voice suddenly lowered as if to emphasize the gravity of the situation. “You know we can’t do that. We’re on exclusive contract. If the Queen finds out, we’re dead.” he hissed.

Jimin shrugged lightly. “So, we don’t let her find out. It’s just a quickie. Princess needs rescuing, or something like that. But the pay is insane. And they asked for us.” Jimin said with a glint in his eye, aware that he’d just delivered the statement that would turn this half-argument in his favor.

Jungkook’s chin was already lifting proudly, a smug grin on his face. “Well, of course they did. We’re the best search party this galaxy’s ever seen.” he asserted. “When do we start?”

Jimin glanced down the table towards Namjoon, making sure he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation between he and the youngest. “Tonight. It’s just a hop and a skip over to the next system. If we can find a hole we can be back by morning, princess delivery and all.”

Jungkook nodded, eating faster now, and Jimin could practically feel the excitement radiating off of him. They finished their meals quietly, careful not to bring up the job again, because the rest of the guys seemed to have superhuman hearing sometimes, and if anyone found out what they were doing, especially Namjoon or Seokjin, lovingly referred to as Mom and Dad, it would be their asses for the forseeable future.

They’d be the equivalent of grounded. No battles, no kills, no fun. Just dishes and laundry for however long it took for Namjoon to decide they’d learned their lesson.

Except, they never did.

Jimin and Jungkook walked back to their rooms after the meal had ended, trying to make their chatter look as innocent as possible, but the truth was, they were both so excited that they could barely contain themselves. Contract work was all well and fine, but it got _boring._ Every day was the same. Wake up, shoot bad guys, repeat as needed until it was time to go to bed. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. A chance to get out, to flex their hero muscles, instead of their henchman ones, was a welcome treat.

“Hey, hyung. You know what we’re gonna do tonight?” Jungkook asked Jimin when they were halfway down the hall.

Jimin’s reply was immediate. “Don’t.”

“We’re gonna…”

“Don’t you dare say it, Kook.”

 _“We’re gonna kick the tires and light the fires, hyung!”_ Jungkook whooped in a stage whisper, and Jimin smacked him upside the head quickly.

“Keep your voice down. And I swear to all that’s holy, if you quote _Top Gun_ again, you’re off the job.” Jimin muttered. “That movie is almost three hundred years old, and it’s not even that good.”

Jungkook looked personally affronted. “Not even that _good_ ?? How _dare_ you. How dare you insult the purest story of men loving other men and playing volleyball and being named Goose that ever existed. I’m offended.”

Jimin pressed the button next to the door of his room, and it whooshed open softly. “Jungkook. Goose dies at the end.”

Jungkook crossed his arms, staring at Jimin. “You know, you remind me a lot of Goose.” he intoned meaningfully, leaning forward, closing the distance between them with zero regard for personal space.

“Say you like _Top Gun._ Say you like it, or we’re splitting the profit from this mission 60/40 in my favor, instead of fifty-fifty.” Jungkook said threateningly, a smile still on his face, but it had gone cold and dark. Jimin was familiar with this side of Jungkook: Soldier-kook, as they all called him. He liked Soldier-kook plenty on the battlefield. Not so much everywhere else. But he wasn’t about to be threatened by an overgrown muscle baby with more complexes than a 21st century suburban neighborhood.

“ _Top Gun_ sucks.” Jimin shot back, arching an eyebrow at the younger boy. “It sucks. It’s cheesy and campy and a wildly inaccurate portrayal of life in the Air Force, probably. And also? No one said anything about fifty-fifty, and now you just made it 70/30. See you tonight, _Kookie._ ” Jimin finished his parting statement with something akin to satisfaction, enjoying the way Jungkook was glowering at him as he entered his room and let the door slide shut between them.

He stood just inside for a moment, knowing Jungkook wasn’t done.

He waited for almost a full minute.

 _“Kick the tires and light the fires.”_ Jungkook whispered, and then he was gone.

 

**Chapter 2: Self-Rescuing Princess**

 

Namjoon sighed for the thousandth time in the last three minutes, head in his hands as he sat at the mess hall table. He only looked up when Jin came charging in, still in his pajamas with face red and lips opening, to commence the maternal scolding he was known for.

Jimin and Jungkook breathed a sigh of relief as everyone else clambered in after him. It was a small blessing, but they would soften the blow.

Namjoon held up a hand to stop Jin before he started. “Okay. One more time, so everyone can hear and _understand_ what’s happening here, because I gotta tell you, it’s four in the damn morning and I either can’t get it, or I don’t want to. Go.” he commanded, pointing at Jimin. “And _you_ ,” he added, turning that finger toward Jungkook. “Not a word. None.” Jungkook scowled, but he didn’t say anything.

Jimin’s eyes were on the ceiling as he began to speak. “Well...uh...see, what happened is...we...we were...trying to...we got a job…”

_“YOU GOT A SIDE JOB WHEN YOU KNOW IT’S EXPLICITLY FORBIDDEN BECAUSE YOU’RE GREEDY, MONEY-HUNGRY IDIOTS WHO CAN’T JUST FOLLOW ORD--”_

Jin’s rant was cut off when Namjoon reached up and silently pulled him down to sit in the chair next to him. Yoongi huffed out a sound of annoyance and promptly turned and retreated out of the room. “It’s too early for this shit.” he muttered on his way out. Hoseok and Taehyung stayed, but they’d scooted so far towards the door when Jin started yelling that their backs were nearly to the wall, eyes wide.

“It wasn’t about the money, it was just for fun--” Jungkook tried, but Namjoon shot a glare in his direction and he rolled his eyes, closing his mouth again.

Jimin was still looking everywhere but at Namjoon and Jin. “ _I_ got us a side job, a princess who needed rescuing. Jungkook didn’t have anything to do with it, he just agreed to go along. Blame me for that.” Namjoon sighed, and the two boys in front of him could see him softening just a little. A fraction, really, and if they didn’t know him so well, didn’t spend almost every waking moment with him, they wouldn’t have noticed.

“Anyway, along the way we ran into a squad of Hwajae fighters, I don’t even know what they were doing in that part of the galaxy, like, many several million miles away from where they belonged, but they messed up Grease pretty bad, my poor baby--”

Hoseok cut Jimin off. “Maybe they knew you gave your ship a stupid name like Grease, so they wanted to teach you a lesson.” Jimin glared at him. “Okay. Yeah. We’ll talk about _Stallion_ later, I guess.”

Hoseok chuckled. “Stallion sounds badass. Grease sounds...pervy.” Jimin sighed exasperatedly. “No, it sounds _cool._ Grease is a _cool_ ship name.” Hoseok chose not to respond, saving that repeated argument for another day, when Jimin’s life wasn’t in imminent danger of being taken by either Mom _or_ Dad.

“Hwajae fighters. Seriously?” Namjoon interjected. “Do you have any idea how _lethal_ Hwajaes are??” Jimin pouted. “Of course I do! This isn’t my first day on the base, hyung.”

Namjoon’s head was in his hands again. “Sometimes I feel like every day is the first day of your life. And sometimes your last. All at once.” he finished, sending Jimin yet another stare of disdain, which was ignored, naturally.

Jungkook was itching to talk, eager to discuss every facet of the epic battle they’d fought and survived on their way to the princess. But, he knew better than to pipe up now. Later, he thought to himself. Later, when everyone had calmed down, this was going to make one hell of an epic saga.

“So after that, things got a little...confusing.” Jimin continued, hands clasped in front of him as he concentrated way too hard on the clock hanging across the room. “We were supposed to go to Sugo, bust the princess out, and drop her off back at...wherever she’s from, but...when we got there she was already rescued?” Jimin was at a loss, now, unsure how to spin this in their favor anymore.

“She was already rescued, so we didn’t _actually_ do anything wrong!” Jungkook contributed almost happily, and Namjoon had to physically restrain Jin once again from vaulting across the room and shaking the dumb out of him.

Jimin scowled at his partner-in-tomfoolery. “Yes. That is accurate. She was _already rescued,_ and there were no enemies because she had _killed them all._ So then we...then...we…” He trailed off, glancing at Jungkook, and then back to Namjoon. “Can Kookie talk?”

Namjoon’s mouth was set in a hard, straight line, but he gritted an answer out between clenched teeth. “ _Sure_ , Jimin. I’d love to hear his last words. Yours were compelling.”

Jungkook stood a little taller, the familiar glint of confidence back in his eyes. “So then we let her hitch a ride with us because what, were we just going to _leave_ her there? No. That’s not very gentlemanly. Being polite and courteous to strangers is rule number twenty-six in the space code.” he pointed out.

Hoseok snorted. “The space code. The very one we’re always breaking, you know, as part of our _real job,_ not whatever you two were doing.” he said, crossing his arms with a smirk.

Jungkook’s mouth was open, and he couldn’t seem to close it. “Yeah, uh...that space code. Whatever. Just. Look, she’s here now and Jimin’s ship is all messed up and Yoongi left before we could tell him that we parked it in the hangar for him to fix…”

Just then, a screech of dismay sounded from the direction of Yoongi’s workshop, along with a few other choice words strung together in a way that was definitely intended to be threatening to Jimin’s well-being.

“I think he figured it out.” Taehyung commented mildly, pretending to be very interested in his nail beds.

Namjoon looked like he regretted most to all of his life choices, just then, especially the ones that he’d made in hiring the two morons standing in front of him.

“The princess. Which princess? Which princess are you?” he asked finally, turning to peer at their visitor.

“Amber. No titles necessary.” came the reply, along with a flash of a smile as the princess in question stepped forward from the corner she’d been patiently occupying during the preceding events. Jin returned the smile kindly, because it was all he could think of to do.

“Amber. I just met you, and I already trust you more than these two. Maybe you could tell me your version of the story.” Namjoon said, less a question than an exhausted order.

Amber shrugged. “Listen, I wasn’t there for most of that story, but it sounds badass. Good job, guys.” she congratulated casually, sending a wink their way. Jimin and Jungkook responded with matching grins of glee, and Namjoon was too tired to stop them this time.

“Basically, I was hanging out on Sugo, trying to figure out what to do, then a bunch of Gonbongs showed up, probably sent to find me or whatever, who knows, so I took them out, and then these guys showed up looking all wide-eyed and innocent and said they were there to rescue me. I wasn’t exactly in a position to turn them down.” she reasoned with another shrug.

Namjoon was staring at her now, confusion and realization fighting it out on his face. “Gonbongs. The Queen’s...The Crimson Queen’s guard. You’re _Amber._ Princess. Goddamn. _Amber_??” he sputtered, flying off his chair incredulously and charging across the room to where the trio stood, Jimin and Jungkook inching closer to each other and Amber crossing her arms defiantly.

“So what if I am?” she questioned coolly.

“Yeah, so what if she is?” Jungkook echoed.

There was a long pause. “No seriously, so what if she is, what does that mean?” he asked.

Namjoon’s fists were clenched at his side now. “The Crimson Queen. Whom we work for. Queen _Bom._ You’re her stepdaughter. Princess. Amber. Is that right?” His voice was calm, too calm. The calm before the storm.

Amber recoiled in shock. “Wait. You _work_ for her?” she said, aghast. Amber’s eyes flew to the walls, to the Queen’s insignia there. To the jackets strewn across the room where they’d been discarded, that all bore the same symbols. Understanding started to dawn on her face, terrified understanding.

“We work for the highest bidder.” Namjoon replied automatically. “She was the highest bidder.”

“Shit.” Amber breathed. “Shit, shit, shit...okay. Um. I should. I should probably go, then? Yeah. I’m definitely gonna jam. But, I mean, I just want to say…” Her eyes floated to each of their faces in turn, a look of quiet sympathy in them. “You all seem like really nice people, and she’s not a nice person. She’s not. If I were you, I would get out while you can. There’s...there’s a lot you don’t know about her. About what she’s doing. What she’s probably using you for.”

Amber stopped then, clamping a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Just forget it. Forget all of this. Thank you…” she directed those words at Jimin and Jungkook. “Thank you for the ride. But I think I need another one out of here, like, right now.”

Taehyung and Hoseok had slipped out of the room the second Amber’s story hit their ears, so when Namjoon turned and looked for them and came up empty, he wheeled back around with a groan. “Princess Fucking Amber.” he said again, adding a bit more color to it. Amber rolled her eyes. “Seriously, you can stop with the Princess thing. It’s kind of a drag.” Namjoon just gaped at her a second before he turned and walked back to his chair at the table.

“Let’s just...let’s just think about this.” Jin began reasonably, before Jungkook cut him off. “Wait. I don’t get it. I thought she was just a regular everyday princess. Why are we all acting like she just signed our death warrant?” he asked helplessly, staring at the remaining faces around him.

Amber gave him a sad smile. “Because if I don’t leave, kid...I did.” She looked back at Namjoon. “Do you have a ship I can borrow? You’ll get it back. Somehow.”

“Let’s just think about this.” Jin repeated, firmer this time, and everyone’s head snapped up to pay attention. He had that innate ability to command a room effortlessly, but Jin only tended to employ it when absolutely necessary.

“You could go,” he started, standing up to pace around the room as he thought this whole thing out. “You could go, and that would hopefully be the end of it for us.” Amber was looking at him now with something like hope in her eyes.

“Or, you could...you could stay here, we could hide you here for a while. And then we could, I don’t know…” Jin glanced at Namjoon, but he looked just as shocked as anyone else did at that point.

“Hyung. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Jungkook spoke up quietly, that gleam back in his eye.

“No. I am not saying anything that requires a _Top Gun_ quote, and if you give me one, I will find that particle discombobulator that Yoongi thinks I don’t know about somewhere on this ship and _fucking equalize you._ ” Jin snapped, and that finally drove Jungkook into complete silent submission.

Amber was staring at Jin, a spark of recognition building on her face. “Seokjin.” she said a minute later, and everyone gasped. Everyone except Jin. He just smiled, a faraway, sad smile.

“Amber. It’s been a long time.”

“What the fuck is happening right now?” Namjoon murmured, and Jimin could practically see his brain leaking.

Jin sighed. “Amber and I went to the same school. A boarding school, a long way from here or anywhere we were from. A place they sent you when...your parents didn’t want you anymore.” He said the words to everyone, but he was only looking at Amber, and she at him.

“A place where I learned to use my skills to get what I wanted. To get out.” he finished, and this time Namjoon looked like he understood, but he hated that understanding. Jimin and Jungkook were still baffled.

Jin didn’t say anything for a long while, he was thinking and thinking, and then he nodded. “You can stay here. For as long as you need to.” he decided, and no one disputed him. “You can stay here, and we can help you do what you have to do. To take out the Queen. I owe you one. I should have taken you with me before.” he said.

Amber shook her head. “You didn’t have to.” Jin hummed, nodding again. “No. But I should have. I owe you one.” he repeated. Amber opened her mouth to speak again, but Jin shook his head. “Even if it’s my life.”

No one knew what to say to that.


	7. Untitled (E'dawn/Yanan - Platonic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last worked on: September 12, 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: general supernatural stuff
> 
> IN THIS HOUSE WE LOVE AND SUPPORT THE POWER COUPLE OF KPOP, KIM HYUNA & KIM HYOJONG.
> 
> Uhhh but seriously, I have so much regret associated with stopping this piece.

The sun is just rising, bleeding hot tendrils of bright red and orange into the dark blue of night, when Hyojong finally makes it back to his side of town. He’s not sure anymore how long he’s been riding, or even what day it is, or when he last took a shower or ate anything at all. But, he’s almost home now, so he figures a pit stop to the corner store to pick up some ramyun won’t hurt. He parks his bike at the curb as best he can in his current condition and turns off the engine, and then he sits for a moment.

Hyojong’s breaths come heavy and fast inside his helmet. He wonders how long he’s been breathing like this, how long he hasn’t noticed the dull thump of his heart racing, drowned out by the sounds of the road.

He hasn’t noticed, maybe, because he’s been too busy trying to ignore other things.

Other _spirits_ , who’ve been following him around for weeks, chattering incessantly, and just generally not letting Hyojong have a moment’s peace.

He’s been trying not to care, or respond, and he’s done well so far. Now, he’s tired, and his patience is running out, and the last thing he wants is to get into anything with an obnoxious, overeager spirit, so Hyojong pulls off his helmet, dismounts from his bike, and leaves Yeo Changgu hanging yet again as he stumbles into the shop, helmet tucked under one arm.

Hyojong hasn’t really had a chance to consider how he looks, but judging by the horrified glance he receives from the girl behind the counter when the door slams shut behind him, it’s not great. This line of work will do that to a person. He avoids the tiny mirror atop a display of sunglasses and makes his way to the back of the store silently.

It’s too early in the morning for there to be many other customers, and at first, Hyojong thinks he has the place all to himself, as he surveys the options in front of him. He might have, if Changgu followed his unspoken instructions, ever.

“Spicy seafood _again_? Jeez, you’re so predictable,” Changgu scoffs with a wide grin, leaning against the shelf Hyojong’s perusing tiredly. Hyojong doesn’t look. He’s only guessing about the grin, because Changgu always sounds like he’s smiling when he speaks. He doesn’t answer, either, because he knows full well that nobody else can see Changgu, and he’d rather not have the poor girl working the end of this ghost shift know that he’s in cahoots with _actual_ ghosts, literally every single day of his life.

Hyojong clenches the package he's selected in one hand, closing his eyes for a brief moment, trying to will Changgu away through sheer mindforce. It doesn’t work, of course, but he at least has the decency to wander to a different aisle, poking at the rows of sweets and snack cakes while Hyojong briefly considers changing his mind about the spicy seafood ramyun. The last thing he wants to be is _predictable._

He glances up long enough to watch Changgu run his fingers over a choco pie, then looks away again, furrowing his brow and picking up another ramyun, so he can at least pretend like he’s considering a new flavor (he’s not).

Hyojong hasn't spoken a word to Yeo Changgu, not one, in the three weeks since Changgu floated through a wall in Hyojong’s nearly empty apartment and proceeded to never shut up, ever. He knows that if he answers any of Changgu’s inane babbling, he’ll be on the hook. He’ll have to help him with whatever he wants, and he’s not sure Changgu even knows what he wants, yet. Some ghosts take a while to realize they’re dead. It’s a shame. Hyojong’s seen it more than a few times.

Changgu’s still caressing pies, still talking, always talking talking talking, and slowly, Hyojong’s sleep-deprived mind starts to piece together what he’s saying.

“It was in here, y’know. Where I died. Right about…” Changgu does a weird little spin into a kneel on the linoleum, just down the aisle from the choco pies. “...here.”

Hyojong starts reading the ingredients on the ramyun packages.

“I was on the phone with my best friend. I was telling him how the banana-flavored pies were a complete abomination, just, like, the _worst_ thing that’s ever happened in the history of snacks, and then he says, do you know what he says, Hyojong?”

Hyojong isn’t really sure when they learned each other’s names. It doesn’t matter.

Changgu goes on. “He says…”

“‘If I was there, I would beat you over the head with a box of banana pies until you fully grasp their simple, fruity majesty.’”

Hyojong doesn’t realize he’s muttered the words aloud until it’s too late.

“Yes! That’s exactly what he said. But of course, you know that. I don’t know why I’m surprised, given your whole...thing,” Changgu babbles on, blissfully oblivious to the way Hyojong’s eyes are darting around the store, to the register, where the lone employee is flipping through a magazine and not paying attention at all, to the other, blessedly still empty aisles. No one heard. No one’s _there._ Maybe Hyojong can still get out of this somehow, can exit this godforsaken, traitorous shop without being beholden to Changgu in any way, shape, or form. Fingers crossed.

Hyojong clears his throat a little too loudly, tossing the ramyun that isn’t spicy seafood back onto the shelf and turning to walk to the front, when he nearly runs straight into one of the tallest individuals he can remember encountering on this plane of existence.

Usually, tall would mean intimidating, Hyojong thinks. He’s not that tall, so he would know. This kid, however, is the absolute antithesis of intimidating, and it’s largely because at the moment, he’s crying.

He’s standing in the middle of the shop, wearing a long coat and nice shoes and a designer shirt, and he’s _crying._

“Oh, man, it’s Yanan…” Hyojong hears Changgu whisper behind him, and he has no idea what a Yanan is or why Changgu cares, but there’s a shower and spicy seafood ramyun waiting for him when he gets home, so he doesn’t even spare the giant guy a nod of acknowledgment before he slips around his right side and strides towards the checkout.

Hyojong’s paying for his single package of ramyun, Changgu hovering around him nervously, his energy orbiting Hyojong like a hyperactive puppy, when a soft, lighter than Hyojong expected voice sounds behind him.

“Excuse me?”

Hyojong hears a sniffle. He’s not interested in dealing with this, not at all, not right now and not ever, so he grabs the ramyun and heads for the door, and he almost makes it there before he’s blocked by a wall of sweet, understated, expensive cologne.

“Excuse me,” the kid says again. Changgu’s somewhere behind Hyojong now, but he’s close. Hyojong rolls his eyes, wiping at the single tear that’s trickling its way down his cheek thanks to Changgu’s emotions. It’s so terribly _inconvenient,_ this gift. This sense. This empathy. Hyojong hates it.

“What do you want?” he asks finally, still staring at the guy’s chest instead of up at his face, because Hyojong can tell he’s still crying, and he really can’t be more a part of that than Changgu’s already forcing him to be.

There’s a small pause, a small shuffling of feet, before the kid answers. “What did you say back there, in the aisle? I heard you say something, and it sounded like…”

Hyojong shrugs, finally pushing his way out into the parking lot. “Nothing,” he tosses over his shoulder, shoving the ramyun into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and not caring one bit if it gets crushed to smithereens, suddenly.

He’s got one leg slung over the seat of his bike when he’s grabbed by his collar and pulled back onto the sidewalk, in a manner that Hyojong can only describe as aggressively polite. Hyojong groans, planting his feet, giving up, and then he looks, really _looks_ at the guy for the first time.

He’s definitely still crying. This is all definitely less than optimal.

“I’m Yanan,” he says, and Hyojong is completely and totally not shocked. He can almost hear Changgu wringing his non-corporeal hands somewhere in the vicinity.

“Okay,” Hyojong replies.

“I heard you. You said, ‘If I was there, I would beat you over the head with a box of banana pies until you fully grasp their simple, fruity majesty.’”

Hyojong studies the concrete chipping off the sidewalk. “Okay.”

Yanan frowns. “Why did you say that?”

Hyojong doesn’t answer.

“Please, tell me. I need to know, because...because that’s the last thing I said to my best friend, before he…”

Holding up one hand, Hyojong cuts Yanan off before he can wander any further down this path that Hyojong will most definitely not be walking with him. “Nope. I’m not doing this today,” he says decisively, slinging his helmet onto his head in one smooth motion.

Yanan takes it right back off and holds it behind his back, and Hyojong would laugh at the childishness of it all, if he wasn’t so, so tired and so, _so_ annoyed.

“Dude. Give me that.”

Yanan shakes his head. “Not until you tell me where you heard those words.”

Hyojong stares at Yanan. Yanan stares at Hyojong.

Changgu’s energy is growing. It’s flickering across Hyojong’s skin, sparking at the edges of his vision. He doesn’t want it. He wants a nap. Like, a sixteen or seventeen hour nap.

Hyojong lets out a weary sigh. “Changgu, _stop._ You? Yanan? Go home. I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time, or willpower, or any of the things you need me to have. I’m sorry for your loss. But go home.”

With that, Hyojong reaches back and snatches his helmet out of Yanan’s hands while he’s still processing Changgu’s name on Hyojong’s lips, and he shoves it firmly over his head, starts his bike, and gets the hell out while he still can.


	8. A New Drug (Johnjae)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last worked on: June 9, 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of drug use, implied underage prostitution, underage smoking
> 
> Why yes, I did rip off that one line of dialogue from American Psycho.

Jaehyun sighs, finishing up at the urinal and flushing. He feels on edge, tonight.

He feels on edge _every_ night.

“This place doesn’t have a good bathroom to do coke in,” he mutters in Donghyuck’s direction. He doesn’t care who hears him.

Donghyuck chuckles, sitting on the bathroom counter and leaning against the mirrors. “You don’t have any, anyway,” he answers, eyeing each and every person going in and out, licking his lips salaciously when he sees someone he likes. Jaehyun glances over just in time to see Donghyuck’s gaze linger a bit too long on an older man, way too old for him, and he reaches out, smacking Donghyuck’s arm with his clean hand.

“Stop that,” he orders, zipping himself back up and stepping over to the sink next to Donghyuck.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Okay, _dad,_ ” he responds, hopping off the counter and resting his body against it, instead, red lollipop between his pursed lips. Jaehyun wishes he would button up his shirt, or something. He’s the only one who seems to care that Donghyuck is underage, that he shouldn’t even be here in the first place, except that Jaehyun brought him here.

He washes his hands too quickly and dries them on his designer pants carelessly, grabbing Donghyuck by his open shirt and dragging him out of the bathroom. They’re in the hallway when Jaehyun lets Donghyuck go, trying to think. He’s half-drunk, maybe, and still a little high from the pills he had earlier, but he wants more. He _needs_ more. He needs to disappear, to become someone else.

Someone worth knowing.

Jaehyun feels sorry sometimes, that Donghyuck’s only got one friend, and it's him. But the kid doesn’t seem to mind spending every night following Jaehyun in and out of all the most popular clubs in town, and a lot of less appealing ones, too, in his never-ending search for escape.

Donghyuck isn’t even paying attention to him now, still cruising all the nearby clubgoers lazily, from under his eyelashes, and Jaehyun knows without looking that it’s _working._ That means they only have a limited amount of time they can stay here, before security notices Donghyuck trading money for the sorts of favors he has no business knowing about, yet. They always have a limited amount of time, anyway. Jaehyun’s father makes sure of that.

Every time Jaehyun thinks he’s found a new place, somewhere his name can’t follow him, his parents are one step ahead. There’s always someone tracking him, making sure he doesn’t do anything too irresponsible. Making sure he doesn’t tarnish the family name. He does it anyway, does all the drinking and drugs and fucking he can, whenever he can, and when he gets too close to euphoria there’s always the paparazzi to knock him back down. There’s always pictures splashed across the front page of every gossip column. There’s always a new bodyguard that he doesn’t recognize, who shows up to collect him when he bails out of jail after a long night.

There’s always his father’s money, making sure his legal troubles go away quietly, without fanfare.

He met Donghyuck two years ago outside some club, one that probably doesn’t even exist anymore, Jaehyun thinks. Donghyuck was only fifteen at the time, living on the street and surviving any way he could. Jaehyun didn’t usually have any vast reserves of empathy that would allow him to give a shit about the plight of others, but Donghyuck was different, from the very beginning. He all but _demanded_ to be cared about, to be cared _for._ Jaehyun took him back to his father’s house that night, gave him a meal and a shower and a bed. Donghyuck turned down Jaehyun’s offer of a permanent place to stay, but he still takes him up on the other things, sometimes.

Jaehyun tries not to think about where Donghyuck spends the rest of his nights.

Finally, Jaehyun rolls his eyes, clearing his throat loud enough for Donghyuck to notice. “Let’s go,” he decides. “This place is tapped.”

It isn’t, and they both know it, but nothing’s ever good enough for Jaehyun, and everything’s always just fine with Donghyuck, so they go.

They weave their way through the crowd, and somewhere in the middle of the dance floor Donghyuck starts clinging to Jaehyun silently. Jaehyun wraps an arm around his waist and guides them toward the door with a gentleness only Donghyuck can bring out of him. Sometimes he hates how much he cares.

Finally, they’re out into the oppressive, smoggy night air of downtown. Donghyuck slips out of Jaehyun’s grasp and slides down the brick wall of the building to the ground, throwing his empty lollipop stick into the bushes, crunching the candy between his teeth instead and swallowing it down. His hair’s stuck to his forehead and he’s sweating, just a little. It makes him almost glow. Jaehyun looks away, towards the street full of cars and taxis lining up at the curb of the club. He’s still thinking. It’s got to be past midnight by now. He didn’t bring his phone with him tonight, on purpose. So he could disappear.

A wide-eyed girl approaches unsteadily, staring. “Are you Jung Jaehyun?” she slurs, reverence in her voice.

“No,” Jaehyun replies, taking a few steps closer to Donghyuck. The girl stands there a moment longer, blinking rapidly, before she gives up and wanders away.

Donghyuck laughs quietly. “You’re a dick,” he murmurs, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a match, scraped on the sidewalk then tossed away.

Jaehyun lets out a breath, head down. “I know.” He’s sweating too, under his jacket and button-down. It’s almost summer, and heat rolls over the city in waves this time of year, even in the middle of the night.

They stay there in silence for a while, Donghyuck smoking and staring at the cars rushing by, and Jaehyun staring at the concrete underneath his shoes. His legs start to wobble a little, and he sinks down next to Donghyuck, squatting, careful not to let his expensive, off-white pants touch the dirty sidewalk. He still has some pride, apparently.

“I just need a bump,” Jaehyun mutters into his arms, folded over his knees. “Just something. Jesus. Why’s it so fucking hard to get good drugs in this city lately??”

He hadn’t realized his voice was steadily rising in volume, until a new voice enters their little bubble.

“What are you looking for?”

Jaehyun’s head jerks up fast. He’s still _so_ annoyed, and this isn’t helping.

The guy looking down at him isn’t going to be any help at all, Jaehyun can tell. He’s dressed far too casually to be allowed inside the club (the same club Donghyuck was just walking around with his damn shirt all the way open, Jaehyun recalls without meaning to), in baggy jeans and a hoodie, beanie pushed over his head and his long hair sticking out the bottom. He’s carrying a beat-up skateboard and smiling, just a little.

Donghyuck starts his up-and-down bullshit, eyes traveling from the top of the stranger’s head down, lingering a bit somewhere around the middle, before they hit his shoes and go back up. Jaehyun watches out of his periphery, and when he sees Donghyuck’s gaze go half-lidded and he starts getting to his feet, Jaehyun does too.

“He’s underage, don’t let him fool you,” Jaehyun says immediately when they’re both standing, and the guy laughs.

“I, uh...honestly wasn’t even thinking about it,” he answers, and Jaehyun can see he’s telling the truth. How refreshing, for both he and Donghyuck, even though Donghyuck’s now scowling at him openly, taking drags off his cigarette petulantly. The effect Jaehyun knows he's going for is somewhat weakened by the iridescent glitter at the corners of his eyes, shimmering in the streetlights.

Jaehyun squints at the guy. “Did my father send you?”

He looks surprised, brow furrowing in the yellow half-light. “Uh… no? Are you worth being sent for?” the guy asks.

Jaehyun licks his lips. “No.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence then, one that Jaehyun isn’t going to be the first to break. Donghyuck isn’t paying attention anymore, wandering off down the sidewalk in search of something more interesting. Finally, the guy clears his throat.

“I’m Johnny,” he says, trying for another quick smile.

“Okay,” Jaehyun answers. He’s still trying to figure out who Johnny is. If he should be suspicious. Jaehyun is always too suspicious, and too reckless, all at once.

Johnny shoves his hands in his pockets. “Anyway… did you want drugs, or whatever?”

Donghyuck doubles back in their direction slowly. Jaehyun watches him for a moment, then he shrugs. “If you have some. I don’t care what it is.” He really doesn’t, and it makes him a little angry at himself.

Johnny scratches at the back of his neck, looking a bit embarrassed. “I don’t. Um, not personally. But I know where you could get some.”

Jaehyun sighs, crossing his arms. This is taking way too long, his fragile patience is wearing thin and his head hurts and he’s shaking a bit, but hopefully he’s hiding it well. “Where?” he prods. He knows every dealer in town, and he tried to get ahold of them all before he left for the night. If Johnny somehow knows something he doesn’t, it’ll be a miracle.

Johnny’s eyes go towards the sky as he thinks. “Well… my bro Taeyong? He’s having a party tonight. There’s usually lots of shit there.”

Jaehyun’s never heard of anyone named Taeyong, dealer or otherwise. But, he’s getting desperate. In another hour, he’ll be both not drunk and not high, and he doesn’t want to be either of those things. He doesn’t want to feel anything they’ll bring with them. He thinks about it for almost too long, while Johnny stands there awkwardly, skateboard leaned against his leg, and nearby, Donghyuck rolls his eyes and lights another cigarette.

“Fine. What’s the address?” Jaehyun decides finally. If Johnny’s wrong, and there’s nothing at this party, it’s still early enough that he and Donghyuck can probably find somewhere else to go and waste their night.

Johnny bites his lip, a slightly regretful look crossing his face. “Oh. I don’t know, actually. I don’t really… I don’t _do_ addresses. I’m better with, like, real-time directions,” he says, and Jaehyun groans.

“You’re not coming with us,” he practically spits, although he doesn’t know why he’s so opposed to the idea. Donghyuck appears at his side, voice low enough for only Jaehyun to hear.

“Why can’t he?” Donghyuck says softly, glancing back at Johnny. “He’s cute. It would be nice to have some scenery that isn’t your hideous face.” He’s grinning a little, eyes lit up with amusement. He loves pressing Jaehyun’s buttons, especially when he’s too distracted and agitated to really care. Jaehyun bites out a less-than-forceful _fuck you_ for Donghyuck’s trouble.

Jaehyun tries to be as subtle as he can in his current condition about checking Johnny out. He's weird-looking, but it's not a bad weird. He's tall and built under his baggy clothes, face made of so many slopes and angles that Jaehyun nearly gets dizzy attempting to figure them out. His cheekbones are too high and his smile is too toothsome, but Jaehyun doesn't mind it. It's been a long time since he didn't mind something, apart from Donghyuck and getting stoned, in that order. Most days.

Next to them, Johnny speaks up again. “You can just drop me off there either way. I’ll give you gas money.”

Donghyuck fucking loses it, then, howling with laughter, nearly folded in half and stumbling against Jaehyun on the sidewalk in front of the club and dropping his cigarette in the process. Jaehyun closes his eyes and prays to whoever will listen for whatever he can get. He’s still not looking when he hears Donghyuck’s high, but somehow always perfectly husky voice.

“Dude, you just offered _Jung Jaehyun_ gas money. Un-fucking-believable. You’re my fucking hero, shake my hand right now. Oh, my _god,_ ” he chortles, and Jaehyun looks again just in time to witness a thoroughly confused Johnny getting one of the most enthusiastic handshakes Jaehyun’s ever seen Donghyuck give out. Silently, Jaehyun watches Johnny continue to be completely lost.

“I really don’t know what’s happening, here. Am I supposed to know who you are?” he asks, turning to Jaehyun with wide, somewhat apologetic eyes.

Jaehyun shakes his head, snapping his fingers at the valet irritatedly. “It’s better that you don’t,” he replies, and neither Donghyuck or Johnny have a chance to chime in before Jaehyun’s brand new Porsche convertible appears at the curb, engine rumbling low and quiet next to them and top already down. The car was a gift from his father, a reward for keeping himself out of trouble for two months in a row. The morning after Jaehyun got the car, he strolled out of the city jail at nine o’clock and right back into the loving arms of the Porsche. His father’s gifts haven’t meant anything to him in years, just like Jaehyun hasn’t meant anything to his family in years, beyond his inability to fall in line and keep them looking good.

To Johnny’s credit, he does his best not to act too stunned when he sees the car, with it’s pristine cream interior and sparkly mint green paint job. He does stare at it a moment, looking uncertain, until Jaehyun and Donghyuck are already in the driver and passenger seats, and then Donghyuck turns his head and asks, “You comin’?”

Jaehyun watches Johnny in the mirror on Donghyuck’s side of the car, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly.

“Um. Yeah, I mean… do I just… do you want me to just put my skateboard? In here?” He gestures towards the car and stumbles over the words, and they’re not even all the way out of his mouth when Jaehyun rolls his eyes and presses the button to open the trunk. Thankfully, Johnny gets the idea, and no further discussion is required. Jaehyun is becoming more and more incapable of conversation by the minute, retreating further into himself.

Finally, Johnny slides into the backseat gingerly, closing the door carefully behind him, and he’s just sort of staring from Jaehyun to Donghyuck and back again, then down at his own hands on the expensive leather, and nobody stops him for a while, as they sit idling by the curb. Jaehyun knows no one will tell them to move along. No one would even try.

Donghyuck raises his gaze to Jaehyun for a moment, assessing his condition, and swiftly determines that Jaehyun is no longer in the mood to be verbal, so he twists around in the passenger seat and smiles at Johnny in the back. “So, where are we going?”

Jaehyun listens silently as Johnny starts to talk again. He’s got just enough brain power left to pick out the phrases he needs, when Johnny says, “I really just feel like maybe I should drive? Like, it would be easier and you’re probably… y’know… marginally incapacitated…”

Johnny’s trailing off when Jaehyun officially runs out of patience, sort of grunting in dismay and jamming the Porsche into drive. “Nobody drives my fucking car,” he manages to get out, and then they’re off.

*

The drive to Taeyong’s house takes half an hour. It should have taken ten minutes at most, but Jaehyun doesn’t realize that until they finally stop driving in circles.

Johnny is bad at real-time directions.

They end up at a modest house in a nice neighborhood, just on the outskirts of downtown. The entire street is lined with cars and people, and Jaehyun has to park nearly two blocks away, but he doesn’t mind the walk. It’s something to focus on, something to distract from his pounding headache. He counts each slap of his shoes on the sidewalk as Johnny leads the way, stopping every few seconds to say hello or perform an elaborate handshake with a passing partygoer.

Jaehyun glances at Donghyuck beside him. He’s quiet, staring at his feet while they walk. He’s always quiet in a crowd of people. Jaehyun knows it’s because he’s not sure what they want from him. If it’s something he wants to give. If he can give it on his terms.


	9. The Taste of Ink (Renhei)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last worked on: August 4, 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a cheat, because I have every intention of finishing this piece, and am working on it off and on between other things, but I really wanted to get part of it out there and read. :)
> 
> Warnings: none

“So, like, does having a million YouTube subscribers make you feel any different?” Johnny asks as he guides his car through rush hour traffic. He glances over at Yukhei, in the passenger seat next to him, practically bouncing with his typical nervous, excitable, altogether _over-the-top_ energy.

Yukhei chuckles, swinging his arms around in a poor approximation of cinematic vehicular karate, just because. He tends to forget how long his limbs are, sometimes, so he nearly takes off Johnny’s head with all the hand-throwing, and has to stutter out an apology before quieting down and staring out the window again.

“I dunno. Sometimes I think about it at work. Like, maybe some of the people I'm serving actually subscribe to my channel,” Yukhei theorizes, pulling his video camera out of its bag and messing with the lens, just to have something to do. Something to keep himself occupied. “Maybe that’s why I get such shitty tips,” he adds, and Johnny lets out a sharp, loud laugh as he turns off onto a side street.

“You get shitty tips because you’re a shitty waiter,” Yukhei’s roommate replies, and Yukhei makes a show of looking as mock-offended as he possibly can, pressing the power and record buttons on his camcorder and flipping the self-camera screen towards his face while Johnny drives. He makes sure to get the worst angle possible for filming himself, because it’s kind of his trademark, and then he answers, as much for the viewers who’ll see this footage later as for Johnny.

“Unbelievable. You guys have no idea the level of abuse I get on a daily basis from this guy,” Yukhei says to the camera, frowning as loudly as he can before turning the camcorder towards the driver’s seat. Johnny just rolls his eyes and pulls into a nearby lot, turning off the engine once they’re more or less fitted into a parking spot.

Johnny gives Yukhei a look, gracing the camera with his stare by default. “Yes. So much abuse,” he intones, running a hand through his too-long hair. “I film half your videos. I drive you everywhere. And now I’m chaperoning you--”

“--we could stick with _chauffeuring_ ,” Yukhei suggests, cutting him off.

“ _Chaperoning_ you, O Immature Roommate Slash Best Friend of Mine,” Johnny continues, ignoring Yukhei’s input, as per usual, “While you make the completely insane and definitely ill-advised decision to get your very first tattoo, to commemorate this milestone in your dubious YouTube career.”

Yukhei flips the camera around again to film himself. “Johnny’s philosophy is ‘so many big words, so little time’,” he mutters, fiddling with his seatbelt with his free hand.

“There were literally no big words in there,” Johnny says dryly, and they get out of the car.

Yukhei hands the camera to Johnny, pausing in front of the shop and adjusting his t-shirt, brushing off any imaginary wrinkles or dirt that might be there, so he can look halfway decent, at least. Johnny waits semi-patiently, camera under one arm as he squints into the setting sun. Finally, he gets tired of waiting and lifts the camera, pressing record before he even says, “Are you ready?” It results in the first shot being Yukhei flipping him off indignantly, before he pulls himself together and launches into an impromptu introduction.

“What’s up, guys! Today we’re here at Full Moon Tattoo, because, you guessed it!” Yukhei starts, slipping into his slightly heightened persona easily. “The overwhelming vote for my million follower milestone is…”

Even though they haven’t discussed any of this, Johnny already knows what to do, aiming the camera up at the neon sign above the door of the shop and doing a quick zoom-in as Yukhei finishes, “Getting my first tattoo!”

(Johnny’s nice enough not to film the rest of Yukhei’s pre-tattoo hype-up, which includes jumping jacks, cartwheels, and more bad kung fu outside the shop.)

Yukhei knows that Johnny’s friends with the owner of this shop, Doyoung, and he also knows that Johnny finds Yukhei slightly embarrassing at all times, so he’s trying to get as much of that out of his system as possible before they go inside. The things he sacrifices for their friendship, honestly.

The sacrifices are on both ends, fortunately. Johnny’s right, he _does_ do a lot for Yukhei. He films most of Yukhei’s more complicated videos, the ones where he’s doing ridiculous shit like diving into a kiddie pool full of jello, or attempting parkour downtown. He also films the inevitable results of those experimental videos, which are usually just Yukhei, in the emergency room, having his stomach pumped because he accidentally ingested too much of the jello in the kiddie pool, or having his ankle put in a cast because he really, _really_ shouldn’t do parkour, ever, at all.

Johnny’s the one-man audience for Yukhei’s freestyle rap vlogs, and usually the provider of food for his mukbangs, even though he doesn’t make much more money than Yukhei does, and Yukhei eats a _lot_.

Johnny also made the appointment for today, in advance, and probably warned Doyoung and his crew about Yukhei. Yukhei’s still not sure if being someone who requires a warning is a good thing, or a bad one.

Yukhei does some more monologuing at Johnny, and then a brief scuffle ensues when he realizes that Johnny hadn’t even been filming the first time around (“I like to think of the first few seconds as your warm-up,” Johnny says calmly, dodging Yukhei’s attempts at a slap fight). Finally, Johnny acquiesces to actual recording, and they get the intro finished and head into the shop.

Yukhei’s never been in a tattoo shop before, so he’s not really sure what to expect.

That’s a lie. He knows exactly what he’s expecting: heavy metal music blasting from shitty speakers, the smell of weed wafting through the air, perhaps, and a crowd of possible-weirdos standing around, talking about whatever weirdos talk about. Yukhei wouldn’t know.

Instead, when he follows Johnny through the small door, the first thing Yukhei’s hit with is the sound of Justin Bieber’s latest _whatever_ (Yukhei definitely wouldn’t know. Not at all), and the aggressively bright smell of citrus. There aren’t any miscreants hovering, unless Yukhei counts the pierced to high heaven boy behind the counter, and he’s too busy twerking on absolutely no one and singing along to do much miscreanting, really. The boy glances up when the door jingles to signal their entrance, and his pierced lips widen into a big smile.

“Johnny! My one and only true love!” he shrieks, jumping the counter to throw himself into Johnny’s arms. Yukhei has to dart to the side to avoid being knocked over in the process, and he grabs the camcorder Johnny’s shoving at him suddenly so he can hug the kid back as Yukhei watches.

Johnny laughs, ruffling the guy’s hair. “Missed you too, Tennie,” he says with a grin, and Yukhei doesn’t miss the way he’s blushing, not even a little.

When Johnny finally lets go of the shorter boy, he looks a little flustered and embarrassed, but there’s also a glint in his eyes when he lays them on Yukhei that implores him not to mention either of those things, so Yukhei doesn’t. For now. He just smiles and waits in uncharacteristic silence until Johnny gets around to making introductions.

It takes a while longer. It takes so long, actually, that another guy wanders into the lobby, this one taller and less pierced, but more tattooed. He flits his gaze over Johnny and Yukhei, then gives the tiny twerker a small frown. “Hey, Johnny. This must be Yukhei,” he says, crossing the room and holding out a hand for Yukhei to shake. “I’m Doyoung. I own this place.”

Yukhei smiles bigger, returning the handshake with nervous vigor, handing the camera back to Johnny with his free hand. Johnny gets the message and dutifully shoulders it, pressing record.

For real this time. Yukhei can see the telltale red light.

“Great to meet you, man!” he exclaims, throwing on his public persona again. He keeps telling himself his oddball YouTube personality is different than his actual personality. Hopefully he’ll believe it, one day. “Thank you so much for working us in today. Can’t wait to see what you can do!”

“Mmm. Actually--” Doyoung starts, but he’s cut off by the other person Yukhei hasn’t officially met, yet.

“And I’m Ten,” the shorter boy Johnny bear-hugged interjects with an eyeroll, one studded eyebrow raising slightly. “Since Doyoung never remembers to introduce me.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes even harder. “I was getting there, trust me,” he says, glancing at Yukhei. “This is Ten,” he repeats. “He’s the piercer.” Yukhei nods, still smiling. His face is starting to hurt.

Ten looks up at Yukhei. Way up. “I guess that means I won’t be getting my hands on you today, Yukhei. What a shame…” he murmurs, stepping a little closer than is strictly professional before Doyoung reaches out and yanks him back by his studded collar with a muttered _don’t_.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Doyoung tries again, shooting Ten a _shut up_ glare to keep him quiet, “As I was trying to tell you, unfortunately, there’s been a conflict in scheduling.”

Johnny lowers the camera slightly, sharing a brief glance with Yukhei. “What happened?” Johnny asks, his voice still upbeat and positive, most likely for Yukhei’s benefit. It never takes much to burst Yukhei’s many bubbles, and he's already starting to feel disappointed.

Doyoung shrugs. “One of our regulars is only in town for tonight, so I’ll be working on his back piece for the next…” Doyoung pretends to check the wrist his watch would be on, if he was wearing one, “...like, eight hours, probably,” he finishes, looking a bit apologetic. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Yukhei frowns a little. “So, should we come back another time?” He feels absolutely deflated already, like all the energy he put towards looking forward to this has just dissipated, within a matter of seconds.

“We can reschedule, or Renjun can do it,” Doyoung says.

Ten’s slipped off somewhere during this conversation without Yukhei even noticing, and suddenly, before he can really process it, a child is standing in his place.

Like, a tiny, way-too-young looking for this setting and atmosphere, _child_. He’s small and skinny, blonde hair swept under a backwards snapback and hands shoved in the pockets of his ripped jeans as he gives Yukhei a sheepish smile. “Hi. I’m Renjun.”

Ten reappears from parts unknown to take advantage of Yukhei’s sudden, unintentional fugue state, fishing the wallet out of Yukhei’s back pocket and rifling through it until he finds his ID. “Just gonna go make a copy for our records!” he singsongs, while Yukhei continues staring at Renjun and Renjun continues smiling bashfully, and Johnny says absolutely nothing and Doyoung says even less.

Yukhei swallows. “This is a child,” he blurts, pointing at Renjun perhaps a bit more accusatorily than he meant to.

Ten snickers, weaving his way back through their small group to return Yukhei’s ID and wallet to his back pocket. Yukhei barely even notices when he cops a feel while he’s at it. “Seems we have two children in the building tonight,” Ten says snarkily. “Renjun’s barely younger than you are, babyboy.”

Yukhei squints at Renjun. “How old are you?” he demands of the kid, who’s now taken to staring at the ceiling, the wall, anywhere but Yukhei, corners of his mouth turned down in a dissatisfied mini-frown.

Renjun sighs in the general direction of the gumball machine full of stainless steel piercing studs in plastic globes, set up in one corner of the lobby. “I’m eighteen.”

Yukhei’s nineteen. _Okay. Fair._

Doyoung takes over, then, saving Yukhei from saying any more stupid things they’ll all have to deal with. “Renjun’s my apprentice. He’s young, but he’s extremely talented,” Doyoung says firmly, leaning over to pick up a large photo album off the table in the lobby. “Here’s his portfolio,” he tells Yukhei, shoving the book at Yukhei’s chest. “Renjun can do your tattoo, or we can reschedule. You guys figure it out while I go get some food, all right?” Doyoung decides, and then he strides towards the door and out before anyone can stop him.

Ten’s back behind the front counter where he’s supposed to be by the time Yukhei catches up again, grasping Renjun’s portfolio in his hands. Renjun gives him another shy smile. “I’ll be back at my station if you decide you wanna do it, okay?” he says, and then he turns to wander down the short hallway just off the lobby, stopping on his way to beg Ten to change the music. Yukhei doesn’t think Ten’s going to do it, at first, but he watches the piercer give Renjun a sweet smile and obediently change the mood music in the shop from full-on Belieber to something more acoustic and relaxed.

 _Talented, indeed,_ Yukhei thinks.

He sighs, flopping down onto the nearest worn leather couch, and Johnny flops down with him, and then Yukhei opens Renjun’s portfolio.

He flips through the first few pages, and honestly? Yukhei’s _stunned._ Renjun is better at art, at tattooing, at his _job_ at age eighteen than Yukhei has ever been at anything he’s tried to do in his nineteen years of existence. The date on the very first picture says _March 23rd, 2018,_ and across the bottom of the photo, in messy scrawl, someone wrote _Renjun’s first tattoo!!_ The piece itself looks perfect, no colors outside the lines that Yukhei can see, no shaky hand syndrome at all.

As he keeps going, Yukhei begins to notice which tattoos are Renjun’s own designs, and which aren’t. There’s a definite style to the pieces that Renjun comes up with himself, an almost whimsical, but subtly dark twist to his art. Yukhei stops halfway through the book, slamming it shut with a loud _thump,_ and Johnny startles next to him, locking his phone. “Well?” his roommate asks.

Yukhei shrugs. “Let’s do it,” he says, picking himself up from the couch and helping Johnny up after him. Yukhei nods at Ten as they pass the front counter, who’s smiling with a not-so-subtle amount of victory in his eyes, and then they’re in the hallway and Johnny’s turned the camera on again. The first room they pass must be Doyoung’s, because there’s a guy laying face down on the table, half-asleep while he waits for the artist to come back from his dinner run.

When Yukhei peeks his head around the doorframe of the next room, Renjun’s there, sitting Indian-style on the floor and bent over a large canvas, streaking long lines of watercolor along the edges of whatever it’s going to turn out to be. He looks up when Yukhei clears his throat, a smile spreading across his face again. Renjun smiles easily, Yukhei notices. It’s nice. It’s a nice smile.

“Hey! We doin’ this?” Renjun asks, tossing his paintbrush into a cup of water nearby and getting to his feet expectantly. Yukhei looks at him, swallowed up in a too-big, faded blue hoodie, snapback still on, eyes wide and cautiously excited, and suddenly, he doesn’t want to let _either_ of them down.

“Yeah,” he says with a little grin. “I guess we are.”

“Great!” Renjun says, taking a few steps across the room to where Yukhei’s standing. Johnny’s still stuck in the hallway, trying to film, not that Yukhei’s even noticed. “Did you have a design in mind?”

_Oh._

“Uh. Oh. Well. I…” Yukhei stammers as slides into the room, finally letting Johnny in behind him, while he tries to think of something that will sound reasonable and not immediately reveal him to be the total moron he absolutely is. “I…”

Renjun chuckles. “Let me just show you some of my flash art, then,” he says, turning to pull another album, about the same size as his portfolio, from the bookshelf in the room. Yukhei glances at Johnny, trying desperately to ask a question with just his eyes and hoping to hell it’s working. He doesn’t actually have time to get an answer before Renjun’s approaching again, and seeing the perplexed look on Yukhei’s face, he laughs. “Flash art is just, like… smaller, more simple designs? They’re all the designs that were hanging on the walls in the lobby,” he explains. Yukhei didn’t even bother looking at the walls. Sometimes, he’s maybe a bit too oblivious for his own good.

“Usually people who just want a not-too-specific tattoo will pick a flash design once they get here and have us put it on,” Renjun continues, flipping the book open to the middle and handing it to Yukhei.

Yukhei blinks at the designs in front of him. He’s seen a lot of similar tattoos before: there’s black cats and roses, crosses and skulls, all done in simple lines and minimal colors. For Yukhei, who’d known that he was getting his first tattoo two weeks ago and hadn’t once bothered to think about what that tattoo would be, this book is a small miracle. He scans the two pages open in front of him, waiting for one design to catch his eye more than the others, and then it does: a single lightning bolt gleams at him from the bottom of the page, yellow and orange and awesome.

“That one’s good,” Yukhei says quickly, jabbing a finger at it. Renjun follows Yukhei’s finger and nods, smiling yet again as he closes the book. Until today, Yukhei didn’t think anyone smiled as much as he did.

“Great! I’ll go trace it out. Back in like, five minutes,” Renjun says, and then he’s gone.

Johnny turns off the camera and settles into the only chair in the small room. Yukhei looks at the table set up under a bright, dentist-office-esque light, and decides he’ll sit on the floor at Johnny’s feet for the moment.

Johnny glances down at Yukhei with a raised eyebrow. “You good? Excited?” he asks casually.

Yukhei nods, then he sort of forgets to stop nodding and ends up feeling a bit like a bobblehead. “Yeah. I’m so good, man. This is gonna be dope,” Yukhei babbles. He wonders if it’s obvious that he’s trying to convince himself, as well as Johnny.

“Mmmkay,” Johnny murmurs, chuckling softly. Yukhei frowns, a bit annoyed. He knows Johnny would never try to stop him from doing something stupid once he’s actually doing it. It’s his brand, after all. And besides, the last two weeks Johnny _had_ spent trying to talk Yukhei out of getting a tattoo hadn’t worked, so he’d probably given up already.

They wait in silence until Renjun comes back, carrying a small piece of translucent paper with the lightning bolt on it. He sees Yukhei on the floor and laughs quietly, eyes twinkling down at him. “Stand up for me?” Renjun requests.  

Johnny starts filming again and Yukhei obeys, stretching his long legs and pulling his entire Large Boy™ frame up next to Renjun. He’s easily got fifteen centimeters on the kid by the time he’s fully upright, and Renjun laughs harder. “God. Why’s everyone around here so fucking tall except me and Ten?” he mutters, before he turns professional again. “Where do you want this?”

Yukhei considers his options, staring down at his forearms and considering his ankles and even briefly contemplating his lower back, before he pushes up one sleeve and peers at his bicep. “Here?” he questions, hoping it’s the right choice.

“‘Kay,” Renjun says, standing on his tiptoes to press the paper into Yukhei’s arm carefully, making sure it’s as straight as he can possibly get it. He peels the paper off a few seconds later, blowing on the design to dry it. Yukhei tries not to shiver. It’s not that cold, really. It’s just… Yukhei has no idea, at this point.

Renjun reaches out and turns Yukhei’s body with both hands on his waist, facing him towards the full length mirror on the wall. “Is it okay?” he asks, squinting at the design from behind Yukhei’s torso.

Yukhei barely gives his arm a glance before he nods. “Sure, looks good,” he says, too fast. He’s starting to feel strange about this whole thing, if he’s being honest. Renjun is just being so nice and patient and Yukhei didn’t think at all about what tattoo to get and he feels like he’s embarrassing himself more with every passing minute, so he kind of just wants to get it over with now, really. Get it over with and go home and rethink his whole life. At least he’ll have a sweet lightning bolt tattoo to look at while he does all that thinking.

Renjun nods and unzips his hoodie, tossing it across the room and readjusting his hat quickly. “All right then,” he says, sitting down on his stool next to the table and opening drawers and pulling out ink and gloves and paper towels and ointment and suddenly, Yukhei notices something.

“Wait,” he stammers out before he can stop himself. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, _wait._ ”

Renjun waits.

Yukhei glances back at Johnny. He’s waiting too. Still filming, but. Waiting.

He swivels around again to look at Renjun. Now that his hoodie’s off, and he’s only wearing a t-shirt and those ripped skinny jeans, Yukhei can see better. And he can see that…

“You don’t even have any tattoos!” Yukhei cries, jaw dropped for maximum outraged effect. He thinks he hears Johnny snicker behind him, but Yukhei doesn’t look.

Renjun blinks up at him owlishly, his expression amused. “Um, no. I don’t.”

Yukhei drops his gangly body down onto the table, gaping at his _supposed_ tattoo artist incredulously. “How can you tattoo people when you don’t have any tattoos yourself??” Yukhei basically wails. He can hear how shrill his normally extra deep voice is going, and he’s powerless to stop it.

Renjun chuckles, sort of. “I don’t think there’s really any correlation there, Yukhei.”

Yukhei rolls his eyes. “Of course there is! You can’t just  _sit_ here with your _not_ tattooed self, holding a _needle gun_ to my head--”

“I’ve only been tattooing for three and a half months,” Renjun says, cutting him off before Yukhei can jog any further down Desperation Drive. “I’ve only been _old_ enough to have this job for three and a half months,” he emphasizes. “And I’ve spent those three and a half months working pretty much all the time, so I haven’t exactly had a lot of time to get inked up,” Renjun points out.

Yukhei doesn’t say anything.

“Besides,” Renjun starts again, a thoughtful look on his face, “It’s a pretty big decision, getting something permanently drawn on your body, y’know?”

Yukhei probably should have considered all of this way in advance. But, like always, he’s made up of too little thinking and way too much _doing,_ and it’s proving more and more to be his downfall. He just wishes his downfall didn’t have to happen in front of a cute tattoo artist who clearly has way more knowledge of life and all its intricacies than Yukhei has of his own two feet.

“I just feel like…” Renjun sighs, searching for the words. “I mean, first of all, I’m _way_ too indecisive to make that sort of life-altering choice, anyway,” he admits with a laugh. “I can barely decide what to eat for breakfast. Doyoung usually decides for me,” he says wryly, and Yukhei can’t help but snort at that. He's sort of mad at how cute Renjun is.

“What if…” Yukhei starts, chewing his bottom lip. “What if _I’m_ too indecisive, too? What if I’m not decisive at all, actually? And this is all a big mistake?” he frets aloud, sort of at both Renjun and Johnny, but also not at either of them, at all.

Renjun shrugs, laughing a little. “You won’t know until it’s too late,” he replies, as if that’s an acceptable answer. Yukhei just stares at him wide-eyed.

“It’s true!” Renjun says. “A tattoo is something you have to _get,_ to know if it’s what you want.”

Yukhei thinks that sounds like a lot of things in his life. He’s always been the type to dive headfirst into the jello kiddie pool of life without thinking it through beforehand, without stopping to consider whether or not any choice he makes is the right one. That’s been his modus operandi for nineteen whole years, and he’s known Renjun for twenty minutes, now, and the kid is already challenging everything Yukhei thought was true and right in his small little world.

Yukhei thinks he kind of likes it.

“So I guess… until I think of something important enough, or meaningful enough, I’m fine not having any. Even if I never think of anything,” Renjun says matter-of-factly, as if this whole currently one-sided conversation isn’t just crushing all the things Yukhei thought he knew before tonight into an extra-fine powder and scattering them to the wind. Metaphorically.

“I let Ten give me a piercing a few weeks ago, just to see if I was into it,” Renjun mentions next, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair, holding it back enough for Yukhei to see the steel rod running through the shell of his ear, right at the top. “And I learned I’m _super_ not into it. I almost passed out. I _definitely_ barfed all over Ten’s studio,” Renjun recollects, a look of distaste spreading over his features at the memory.

Yukhei grimaces along with him. He doesn't exactly have the strongest stomach, either. _Cancel the piercing as a backup plan._ “Gross,” he mutters.

“So I mean, maybe… maybe this stuff’s not for me?” Renjun theorizes, scratching at the back of his neck idly after he fits his hat back on his head. Yukhei gives him a look of extreme alarm, and Renjun scrambles to backtrack.

“No, no, no. I mean. The _giving_ tattoos is definitely for me,” he assures Yukhei. “I’m good at it, and I like giving people something important. I think it’s amazing, when someone can come up with a picture or a phrase or anything that they feel so strongly about that they want it on their body forever,” Renjun decides finally.

Yukhei’s mouth feels almost painfully dry. “Yeah. Totally,” he manages to croak out after a small pause. Renjun either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t want to humiliate Yukhei further by mentioning how incredibly weird he’s being. Yukhei’s grateful.

It takes several more seconds for Yukhei to realize that he just stood there silently while Renjun talked, and that's _really_ not like him. In fact, he suddenly doesn't feel like himself, at all, and he's not sure if that's good or bad,  yet. He scrambles for something to say while he figures it out, for a way to redeem himself and his reputation. Renjun fiddles with some bottles of ink quietly, dripping yellow and orange into two tiny cups on the counter next to him.


End file.
